


Call of the Dark

by Splivy



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Asgardian Ceremonies, Hurt Loki (Marvel), Memory Loss, Odin is actually very distressed, Original Character - Freeform, Pre-Thor (2011), Suicidal Thoughts (very minimal but it’s there), This took a dark turn oops, Torture, magical defense mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-03 07:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21175760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splivy/pseuds/Splivy
Summary: During an Asgardian feast held in celebration of Odin All-Father’s birthday, as well as the prince’s coming of age ceremony, political enemies infiltrate Asgard.The mastermind behind it is after something. Unfortunately, it involves Loki.*read warnings in chapter descriptions!!!





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> So, I’ve been neglecting my other stories because I got obsessed with this one, and it was going to be a long one shot, but then it got so long, I decided to make it into two. It was an idea I couldn’t get rid of, and I have never written a prethor story. 
> 
> I am working on BBM and DoG, still, don’t worry.
> 
> Anyways, TRIGGER: there is a slight reference to suicide in the middle of this story and the end, so if you need to skip that part I can tell you the first one is when Loki begins hallucinating, so you can skip that. The last one is the last sentence of the story. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The people of Asgard, royalty and common folk alike, ready and prepare themselves for the feast that would be held that night in honor of another year of Odin All-Father’s life. It usually wasn’t such a big festivity, but there is more to it than that. 

The two sons of Odin are now old enough and deemed equipped for battle, able to fight in a war and to be sent on riskier quests. Usually, that would have its own celebration, but Frigga All-Mother suggested they combine the two circumstances into one great feast, where the people of Asgard can come together to rejoice.

It was common knowledge among everyone that the princes were growing older and steadier in their duties and responsibilities. They were still extremely young in comparison to the expertise of the king and queen, but it was time they formally introduced the aspects of combat to the two sons. 

What Asgard didn’t know however, was on this same night, political enemies to the throne were gathering in groups around the palace. 

And they weren’t there to celebrate.

...

“Loki...”

Her voice was a soft echo in his room, and Loki turned from his mirror where he was nervously checking himself. A small smile spread across his lips.

“Mother,” he replied. 

She had a smile of her own, but it was wider and sweeter, and her footsteps resounded throughout the room as she sauntered toward Loki. 

He turned back to the mirror, her reflection now accompanying his. “Are you ready,” she asked. 

He pulled his shoulders back, adjusting his clothes to release any wrinkle they may hold. He was wearing a long, green coat under a black tunic with equally black pants, gold tendrils of thread running through the length of the coat’s fabric. He decided not to wear any leather of any kind for tonight, excluding his boots, in efforts to show a humble stance. The louder the outfit, the more obnoxious he would feel about it. 

He huffed a nervous, tight breath. “Well,” he queried. “How do I look?”

Frigga’s smile stretched closer to her eyes, putting her gentle hands on his shoulders. “Like a prince,” she said with some finality.

Loki’s lips quirked at the corner. “I would hope so,” he teased, though his voice still held a nervous expression in it. 

His mother chuckled softly, squeezing where her hands lay in a comforting gesture. “Let us go now, Loki. Your brother is waiting outside your room.”

He looked at himself one last time, pulling at his collar. He took another deep breath, held it for a moment too long, and released it. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He turned around, holding out his elbow, and Frigga took it with a smile.

...

Thor had clearly decided on an outfit that had been the complete opposite of Loki’s intent. His red cape draped behind him like a crimson trail, a long, white tunic underneath it, and black leather pants tucked into his tall shaft boots. It might have been a quieter outfit if Thor had decided against the cape, but Loki wondered if it was because he was the elder son. 

He didn’t really care all that much, annoying as it was. Either way, they were both getting a ceremonial engagement, and Loki had always wondered if he would get left behind in that constitution. He was still younger, much younger, than Thor, but he was highly skilled in his arts. 

As much as he gets teased and ridiculed for using “womanly” means of combat, he was good at it. Quick with daggers and exceptional with magic, more exceptional than anyone else currently residing in Asgard who used magic, other than his mother. He almost surpassed that of Frigga herself. 

He took place next to his brother, who didn’t look the least bit nervous, but practically vibrating with excitement. Thor must have noticed this, and frowned at Loki. “Why look so mellow, brother?”

Loki resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not mellow.”

“You look mellow,” his brother retorted. 

“I’m not,” Loki insisted. “I’m just a little nervous.”

Thor’s laugh echoed the hallway, and he turned to him. “Nervous? What for, brother? We are finally being crowned with battle.”

That time Loki did roll his eyes. “Yes, but I don’t believe it’s as magnificent as you think. It’s a dangerous thing, Thor.”

“Are you saying you don’t want it?”

“No,” Loki vehemently denied. “I’m only saying, perhaps don’t look so... jubilant.”

Thor’s face relaxed a little, his smile dropping to a more delicate one. “Loki,” he started, his voice soft. “Despite what you may think, I am privileged to be standing by you this night, and receiving such an honor by your side. You’re my brother, my best friend, and I cannot wait to see what we may do together in the future.”

His heart definitely did a flip in his chest, and he beamed at his brother. “Likewise, brother.” 

Thor gently placed his hand on the base of Loki’s neck, giving it a small, comforting squeeze before letting go and turning back to the hallway. 

“Well,” Thor huffed, and Loki thought he heard a hint of that nervousness he was laughing at earlier. “We should go. They are waiting.”

Loki smiled. “Of course.”

And together, the two princes of Asgard walked the length of the hallway to their ceremony. 

...

At the exact moment the princes made their way to celebratory halls of Asgard, men and women against the throne act quickly to take their places. 

Two men are able to take down Heimdall, who was taken by surprise and confused at not being able to see such a treason with his all seeing eyes. 

Four other men wear deception in the form of Asgardian guards, taking their position at the great, golden double doors outside the ceremonial chamber, watching Prince Thor and Prince Loki stalk inside, small smirks on their faces. The door closes behind them, and they wait for their signal.

...

It was to be a fast, and simple ritual. Loki wasn’t sure exactly how it worked, but when he came through the golden double doors to the event chambers, Thor at his side, all heads turned to their direction. His nerves spiked again, but he kept his chin up, an eloquent stride next to his brother’s rather heavy posture. 

Odin All-Father and Frigga All-Mother stood at the end of the room, a small flight of stairs leading to their attention, where Thor and Loki halted and knelt down to one knee, heads bowed. 

They remained silent, along with the audience, who all watched with excitement for their royal leaders. 

Odin took quiet, but steady, steps down the stairs, wearing an expensive looking white twilled gown with a golden sash over his shoulders, Gungnir in his hand. 

His voice boomed over the crowd.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the monumental event of the two princes coming of age ceremony, and allow them to declare their fealty and loyalty to the wellbeing of Asgard.”

Odin turned to Thor first, and Loki couldn’t shove down his jealousy, but he still held euphoria for his brother. 

“Thor Odinson, my first born child who wields the might of the hammer Mjolnir, do you swear to use your strength and courage, your influence and tenacity, to fight for your people and their well being through the rest of your days?”

Thor smiled wide, lifting his head and looking his father in the eye. “I do swear.”

Odin gave him a look, but Loki couldn’t put his finger on it what it was, and then turned his attention to him. “Loki Odinson, my second born, talented in the wielding of magical arts and skilled in the combat of fist and dagger, do you swear to use your quick wit and diplomacy, your craft of seidr and trickery, for the good of your people and safety of the realm?”

Loki couldn’t help but feel slightly bitter at his father’s inclusion of the word ‘trickery’ in his speech, but lifted his head nonetheless. “I do swear.”

Orin’s chin lifted a little higher then, the smallest of smiles filled with pride twitching at the man’s lips. “Then rise, my two sons, and accept these words.”

Thor and Loki glanced at each other from the ground, Thor’s grin bright on his features, before rising to their feet. 

Odin raised the bottom tip of Gungnir off the ground. “By the power I wield within the Staff of Gungnir, I now pronounce Prince Thor and Prince Loki, to be coming of age and equipped for battle and war.”

Odin made to bring down the staff with a crack, but before he could, the double doors burst open with an echoing crash, turning the attention of everyone towards it. 

Chaos ensued. It all happened so fast. 

Pedestrian men and women in the audience were being slayed down in blood and screams as a large group of people came through the doors with swords in hand, and Thor and Loki watched in dismay, frozen in place.

Asgardian warriors flooded the room, swords and weapons of all kind at the ready. Others were filing the people to safety, away from the bloody fight, their panicked faces sending a pang to Loki’s heart. 

Thor made to join in the fight, but Odin grabbed his arm, his face grim and weary. 

Their father turned to a guard behind them. “Take the princes to safety,” Odin stammered, and the guard moved fast.

“What,” Thor blanched. “Father, we can-“

“Silence,” their father boomed, and then Thor and Loki were being pulled away from the disorder, screams and metal clashing against metal fading away as they exited. 

...

“Let us go back,” Thor argued with the man, Loki on the other side of him. “We can fight.”

“I have my orders, my prince,” the guard replied, walking to the two princes hurriedly through the halls. 

“You take orders from me too, Einherjar, and I say to take us back!”

“Thor,” Loki interrupted. “Shut up, he’s not going to take us back.”

“But we were claimed ready for battle,” Thor almost pouted, and Loki thought he may punch him in the face.

“Technically, no we weren’t.”

The guard began walking faster and the sounds of footsteps following them. “What are you talking about, brother?”

“Father wasn’t able to slam Gungnir in confirmation before we were attacked,” he tried to reason, Thor’s anger practically steaming off of him. 

“Your brother is right,” the guard announced. “The ceremony was not carried out to completion. That is why the king ordered me to take you to safety, and I will.”

Thor huffed a breath, and Loki really wanted to punch him in the face. He wasn’t taking this seriously, Loki realized. He was acting as though it was a test, or worse, a game, and Loki wondered how these people even managed to get past Heimdall’s sight.

Before Loki could voice his opinion, however, the people following behind them managed to catch up, and more flowed in from in front of them.

They were surrounded, and it was a circled crowd of men against three. Loki couldn’t help the dread that plummeted down to his stomach. 

“Stand down,” the guard said, pushing the brothers behind him in a protective gesture. 

Thor and Loki glanced at one another, then back at the crowd surrounding them. 

Loki could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and it seemed too hard against his chest. 

The crowd moved closer to them, and Thor and Loki faced around the circle of enemies. “Let us help you fight,” Thor said quietly. 

“It seems you may have to, Prince Thor,” the guard replied, clearly unhappy with that aspect. 

But before anyone could say anything else, the men yelled in a cry of battle, and then it was complete anarchy. 

Loki’s fingers immediately sparked with magic, sending at least four of them against the wall with a crack, summoning a dagger in each hand. 

Three men came onto Loki, and he was lost in the fight.

He swooped his legs under the one on the far left, bringing him down to the floor while his arm elbowed the middle one back. The third one came up behind him, but Loki sensed him, grabbing the man’s head and throwing him over himself, and he hit the floor with a thump. 

The one he’d knocked to the floor the first time stood back up, clearly frustrated at being brought down, his fists up and ready. 

Loki blocked multiple of the man’s strikes, and he was really trying no to kill him, but his dagger swiped across the enemy’s leg, spraying blood, and Loki wanted more. 

How dare these men infiltrate Asgard and kill multiple innocents in a simple ceremony celebrating a coming of age. If the problem lay with the royalty of Asgard, fine, but the people have nothing to do with it. It was cowardly.

He kicked the man’s knee cap, sending it backwards out of place, and the man yelped as he fell to the floor. 

Loki couldn’t turn to see how the Einherjar and Thor were doing, because the other two were flanking him, one of them managing to knock one of his daggers from his fingers, twisting the arm behind his back. He grunted at the pain, but spiraled himself out of it, kicking the other man in the process and knocking him back. 

He punched the one still holding his arm straight in the center of his face, bringing his other dagger around to slam him to unconsciousness with the hilt. 

The last one came up to him again, clumsily striking him over and over when Loki repeatedly blocked one after the other. He could tell the man was becoming frustrated, disappointed at knowing this wasn’t going to be as easy of a task. 

And Loki realized then, that this whole attack had to be because of the princes. Because of them. Why would that many surround them if it wasn’t for anything else? 

No, they were here for Thor and Loki, and Loki felt a protective rage take over his body when he thought of the idea that they were here to harm Thor. 

“Loki!”

Thor’s call echoed the hallway, and through Loki’s distraction, he sensed that someone was behind him too late.

They wrapped their arms around his waist and flung him backwards, and he hit the ground with a crunch. Winded, he wasn’t able to get up fast enough, though he was able to lift his head. 

And he saw the floor littered with bodies, dead or unconscious he didn’t know, but he he felt a sort of pride. That faded quickly when one of them had the guard who was trying to help them on the ground, and Loki realized he didn’t know his name with a pang, and stabbed him through his chest with a long, bloodied sword. 

Thor cried out in rage, and to Loki’s dismay, the same man came and grabbed his brother’s head and slammed it against the stone floor. Thor didn’t get back up, and Loki’s bones surged with fear as cold as ice, not knowing if the blow killed him or not. 

“Thor,” he tried, and attempted to push himself off the ground, but his ribs protested and he fell back to his stomach. He wondered if he fractured some. 

He felt the man who threw him loom behind him, but the one who slammed Thor’s head to the stone floor called out, “no,” and it echoed the halls. 

The coward behind him stopped, and Loki realized he was very much alone and vulnerable. 

The man took slow steps towards him with an unnerving smile across his lips. “It’s true,” he breathed, almost relieved. “You truly are one of the most powerful sorcerers here.”

Loki grunted as he tried to stand again, but he was kicked back down by a strong boot. He looked up and saw the man crouching down by him. “That will be very useful.” 

Fear surged again at the horrible realization that he was the target.

Loki spat on him. “I won’t do anything for you.”

All that earned him was a smirk. “We’ll see,” he remarked. And then tilted his head to the man behind him, and the same boot that had kicked his back down descended and slammed his own head to ground. 

Oblivion and fear took him down under.

...

“Thor, wake up...”

Voices sounded distant in his ears, and his head was pounding against his skull. He tried to grip for his memory, but it wasn’t there yet. 

He felt slow, his limbs heavy on his body like Mjolnir itself. He tried to pry his eyelids apart, but they felt sticky when he attempted again, and decided to wait it out.

“Thor,” he heard a woman’s voice, and it sounded Frigga’s, but he couldn’t be sure. 

“Nhgn,” was the only response he could manage, illiterate as it was. He couldn’t remember what happened, and he fought for the memory but couldn’t get a hold on it. 

He felt a trickle coming from his temple, and he wondered if it was blood.

“I believe he’s concussed,” he heard another voice, and that one he could certainly identify as Odin. He could only suspect the woman’s voice was indeed his mother’s. 

He felt a sudden warmth spread through out his body, heating his heavy limbs. It was a kind warmth, and he welcomed it. After a moment he could tell it was his mother’s magic, and the ache in his head diminished with a sigh of relief.

“Mmh,” he exhaled. “Mother?”

“Are you alright,” she asked, and he was finally able to pry his eyes open. She was kneeling next to him, his father next to her, both with worried expressions on their face. 

He pushed himself to his elbows. “I believe so,” he answered. “Thank you.”

“Where is Loki,” his father asked, his voice grim with trepidation. 

Frigga’s eyes scoured the hallway, her lips parting slightly in unease. She turned back to Thor as Odin stood to his feet. “Did you see where he went?”

Thor shook his head, now sitting completely up with his mother’s gentle hand on his shoulder to offer support. “No,” he said, and his own heart dropped to his stomach, memory slamming him. “I remember a man bringing my head to the stone before I could gain any intel or see anything.”

Orin’s lips were set in a tight line, and Frigga stood up, walking to her husbands side. “It’s possible he is still in the palace.”

Odin shook his head. “No,” he grumbled, and his voice was vibrating with restrained anger. “No, they would be gone by now.”

Thor’s heart started hammering in his chest, dread fluttering in his stomach. “Father, what is going on,” he asked, pushing himself to his feet. He swayed unsteadily, but managed to catch himself.

Frigga bit her lip, brows furrowed in worry. His father turned around to face them both, his expression similar. “They were here for Loki.”

Frigga’s breath trembled, but she didn’t seem surprised. 

“What,” Thor demanded. “How do you know that?”

Frigga took in a deep inhale. “When your father ordered for the two of you to be taken to safety, we were able to put a cease to the chaos,” she swallowed. “Odin managed to get them to speak, but only a little. They mentioned something to do with the second prince’s magic and his sacrifice.”

Thor’s inhale hissed through teeth. He didn’t want to know what ‘sacrifice’ they were referring to, but it couldn’t be anything good. “We have to find him,” he insisted, making to leave and wonder the hallways for his brother. 

“Thor,” his father’s voice was sharp, and he stopped. “You will go to your chambers.”

Anger spiked in him. “What, no,” he forced. “Loki is in danger, and you would sit idly by-“

“Silence!”

And his mouth snapped shut with a click to his teeth. His mother looked grim. “Thor,” she cautioned. “Do as your father says.”

The sheer defeat in her voice had Thor’s anger deflate. They were just as upset about this as he was. 

He slumped in defeat. “Alright,” he sighed. “I will go, but only if you swear the rest of the palace and her people are safe.”

Odin still said nothing, and Thor could see the man’s fists clenched at his sides. 

His mother broke the silence. “We promise, Thor. Now go.”

And he did, fear for his brother deep in the pits of belly.

...

The first thing Loki was aware of was pain. His head felt heavy on his neck, washing pain down his spine and spreading throughout his nerves. The ribs he’d broken back in the fight were throbbing, pulsing against his ribcage in a quick repetition, and his magic felt exhausted within him.

The next thing he was aware of was that he was flat on his back, and his heart lurched in his throat. He jerked his arms up, expecting to meet resistance, but realized he was free of restraint. 

Loki took in a few deep breaths and let them go harshly. When he was able to get his eyelids apart, he turned his head to see he was in a what looked to be a cave, dark and damp, shadows playing against the walls due to the few lanterns and torches lighting the room. 

He managed to sit up, but his stomach lurched with nausea at the movement of his concussed head, and he heaved forward. He didn’t vomit, however. He swallowed down the discomfort, swinging his legs over the edge of the altar-like stone he lay upon. 

The room was open, no sign of being caged in any way were evident to him. He pushed himself to his feet, turning around to see the cave went deeper behind the slab he was resting on. 

“Hello,” he tried to call out, but it came out as more of a croak. 

He heard what he thought to possibly be water dripping from somewhere, and it contributed to the eerie aura he was getting from this situation. 

Loki bit his lip, sighing. “I demand to know the coward who would slaughter innocents for my capture.”

Still nothing, and he exhaled a frustrated snarl. When his nausea flared again at a pulse in his head, he stumbled back against the slab, falling back onto it. He heaved a few times, but managed to gain back control. 

It was in this moment Loki wished he had paid more attention in the healing arts of magic. His powers would heal him naturally, of course. But it would take longer than he would like. He could practically hear his mother scolding him now for his lack of interest in the healing aspects of magic. 

Is his mother safe? His father, or Thor? The last he’d seen Thor, he’d had his head slammed against the stone, and he’d fallen limp, completely still. Surely his mother would have healed him once she found him.

Unless he was already dead, whispered a dark voice in his mind. 

He sat still, pondering over his family for almost another hour before he finally heard footsteps echo from behind him. 

He stood, turning sharply and keeping the pain at bay at the movement. 

“Loki, is it,” the man, the same man who’d practically caved his head in, asked. He was wearing a smirk, and goosebumps ran down Loki’s skin. 

“I think you know very well who I am,” Loki retorted, swallowing. 

He examined the man, studying his relaxed posture. He was tall, almost six feet, towering over Loki like the palace of Asgard itself, and he had a lean structure to his body. He seemed older, seemingly close to the age of the All-Father. His dark brown hair streamed a little past his shoulders, his black shaded eyes staring into Loki like a demon. 

“Yes,” said the man, almost hungrily. “I do.”

Loki moved backwards at the man’s stalking towards him like prey, and he stopped. “Then you know I am a prince of Asgard, do you not?”

“Of course.”

Loki frowned. “You will be condemned for kidnapping a son of Odin. Do you not realize that?”

He laughed, and it was sharp. Loki couldn’t keep his flinch withheld. “You are such a child,” he sang. “Hiding behind that pathetic excuse for a benevolent king.”

Loki kept his face impassive, raising his eyebrows. “Considering our exchange we appear to be having, I would claim you are no better, perhaps worse, than the All-Father.”

He expected that to make the man angry, but instead his smirk widened, and he stalked closer to him. Loki didn’t move back this time, wondering just how close the man would get. 

“Do you have a name,” Loki asked. “Or would you rather I just call you coward?”

The man snorted, tilting his head. “Eirik,” he answered after a moment.

Loki understood the name, therefore he understood it was an alias. “That’s not your real name,” he informed, and Eirik twitched. “I am not an idiot. It’s a name you’ve chosen for yourself, is it not? It means ‘to stand alone.’”

Eirik narrowed his eyes at him, and Loki took that as a victory. “You would be correct,” he asserted. “But it is what I go by, so it will be how you address me.”

Loki just shrugged, feigning indifference, but he understood the man was dangerous. He was a fool, but dangerous nonetheless. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me of your purpose to hold me captive?” 

That earned him another laugh and another step towards him. “I require something from you,” he purred, and Loki couldn’t suppress his shudder. Eirik was only perhaps three feet away from him now, and Loki fought the urge to move away. 

“Well,” he mused. “I am afraid I have no interest in helping you.”

He saw Eirik’s jaw clench. “I do not think you have a choice.”

Loki cocked his head to the side. “There is always a choice,” he stated. “I am making mine.”

Eirik was clearly losing control of his calm. “During the war,” he began explaining despite Loki’s refusal. “The war with the Dark Elves, there were many lives lost. Too many, I would say.”

Loki watched him, and he saw something flicker in the man’s expression, but it was gone too quick for him to determine it. “That, I suppose, I can agree with.”

“We were told we would be protected,” he continued, voice laced with poison. “That the people of Asgard would lose no innocents in the battle, and only those of Einherjar would be the ones risking their lives. Odin promised us safety, promised us the sanctuary we needed during the time of war.” Eirik paused, and Loki saw that expression again, and this time caught it. 

Anguish…

Pure and raw anguish, and Loki already suspected that this man must have lost something during the war, perhaps someone. 

“He lied,” Eirik went on, and Loki heard a slight tremble to the man’s voice. His gaze was somewhere else. “It came out of nowhere. A simple day, like any other… Until it wasn’t, and there was fire and screams and death polluting the air of Asgard.”

“A surprise attack,” Loki noted for him. He’d read about it in a book about the war with the Dark Elves, and almost a third of Asgard’s population was killed in the slaughter. 

Eirik was trembling, with anger or something else, Loki didn’t know. “I lost my wife and my daughter that day, burned alive in the annihilation.” Loki closed his eyes, bowing his head, unable to not feel sorry for the man. He didn’t want to imagine what that must be like. “From that day forward, I made a promise to my dead family I would no longer follow the throne, and I have been the leader of a political group against Odin for almost three decades, building it from the ground up.”

Loki’s lips parted slightly, wondering if he was here to be killed. “Am I here as your form of revenge? A son of Odin to be killed in equivalency to that of your family?”

Eirik seemed to contemplate that for a moment, a scowl on his face before his expression cleared. “I had considered it,” he admitted. “But when I heard that the second prince was adequately skilled in the arts of magic, I formed a different plan.”

Loki’s eyes pulsed, but he could feel his headache clearing as his powers worked to healed him. “And are you going to inform me?”

Eirik worked his jaw, eyes narrowing as he seemed to study Loki for a moment. “You’ve dabbled in dark magic, have you not?”

Loki blinked, taken aback. “How did you…” he trailed off. He hadn’t informed anyone of that, not even his mother. 

Eirik chuckled deep in his throat. “As I said, I run a group against the throne, is it so surprising I have eyes in the palace for me?”

Loki shuddered at the realization, the violation. “You’ve been watching me.”

Eirik waved his hand, as if in dismissal. “That is beside the point. I know you have,” he was smirking, like he knew something Loki didn’t. 

A dark, looming realization fell over Loki then, slamming into him like Thor’s hammer. “You’re talking about necromancy.”

The smile upon Eirik’s lips widened, and that was answer enough. Loki swallowed. 

Necromancy used to be a very common form of dark magic that people used often, back before even the All-Father was born. But when it became knowledge that it usually killed the caster and those summoned were something different, something evil, it was deemed forbidden. 

But Eirik was right, Loki read about it, and cast small spells of revival on beings such as rats, or insects, but he’d never thought about doing it on a whole person, let alone two. 

Loki swallowed again, pursing his lips before announcing, “no.”

Eirik twitched, anger flaring in his gaze. “No?”

“That’s what I said.”

Before he could even think, Eirik was moving too fast to track, and he suddenly had his hand wrapped around Loki’s throat. It was like a switch, one moment the man seemed calm enough, and less than a split second later, he was a different person. 

Loki’s fingers clawed at the rugged, calloused hand squeezing his windpipe shut tight, fear igniting in his bones. 

“I don’t think you understand,” Eirik snarled in Loki’s face. “You will do what I ask, whether you’re willing or not. However, do not think I can’t tear this from your unwilling flesh and bones.”

Stars began dancing in the corner of Loki’s eyes, and he felt his toes raise off the ground as Eirik lifted him. He didn’t say anything, though, just stared into Loki with his black eyes, watching him flail and struggle, Loki’s slim fingers trying to pry away the man’s unrelenting hold. 

He felt his life leaving him in that moment, and his feet kicked involuntarily. His limbs were going limp, his eyes rolling in the back of his head. However, before he could lose consciousness, Eirik let him go, and he fell to the floor like a wet rag. 

He gasped, coughing on the ground at Eirik’s feet, his hand reaching up to his throat. Eirik crouched down next to him, and Loki couldn’t suppress his flinch away from him. “Think on that,” he purred, and left Loki there on the ground, heaving with fear. 

Please, he begged inwardly. Please find me…

…

He waited a long time, but he supposed Eirik wasn’t coming back for a while yet. 

Childishly, he couldn’t stop repeating in his mind like a mantra that he wanted to go home. He was afraid, and you’d be a fool not to fear such an unstable man like Eirik. But fear didn’t have to mean defeat, and Loki wasn’t so feeble as to break to him. 

He would not perform the kind of magic he was demanded of. If he was going to be completely honest, he wasn’t sure he could. Eirik was smart, and apparently had been watching for some time, so Loki knew he wouldn’t be able to feign ignorance as his defense. His only defense in this situation will have to be his defiance. 

He wasn’t particularly intrigued to know what that would earn him, but he wasn’t a child. He was a son of Odin, a prince of Asgard, brother of Thor, son of Frigga. He would fight this.

He could feel bruises blossoming around the skin of his neck, and his throat felt swollen from the attack. He didn’t want to know what his voice would sound like. 

In that moment, green sparks flared at his fingertips, summoning a reflection of himself, and he winced. There were indeed bruises, blues and black painted on him as if in brush strokes. His eyes were a little red, probably from bursted blood vessels, and he blinked a few times to see if it would clear it. It didn’t, of course. 

He sighed, waving his hand and the reflection vanished in a smoke of green haze. Again, he’d wished he’d paid more attention when it came to learning of the healing arts. 

What felt like hours later, three men Loki didn’t recognize came from the dark of the cave, Eirik trailing behind them, arms behind his back. His lips stretched with that damned smirk Loki had come to hate. 

He swallowed, moving backwards slowly as the three men advanced on him. If Loki was forced to fight, he wasn’t sure he would win, his injuries from the exchange in the palace still flaring with pain. 

“What are you doing,” he asked, the men coming closer. 

Eirik’s smile widened, and he tipped his head towards the men in a curt nod. They sprang into action, and before Loki could process anything, they were on him.

Two were flanking him, and the third was behind him, pushing him towards the altar. Loki struggled against them, but his fractured rib crunched in his ribcage, and he grunted. 

They managed to get him flat on his back, one man on each arm, holding them out spread eagled. The other one pulled a dagger from his pocket, and one of the men pulled his left sleeve up, exposing bare, pale skin. 

“What are you doing,” he tried again, a little louder, but he received no answer. He thrashed, flailing against the three men’s strong hold, but it was futile. 

Loki saw the one holding the dagger put the tip of it at the crook of his elbow, and the pieces fell into place. Loki remembered reading that in order to perform a powerful spell of necromancy, you would need the caster’s blood. 

The man dragged the blade down to his wrist, creating a jagged, deep incision. Loki couldn’t repress the cry that clawed its way out of his throat, and his fingers twitched without command. 

Loki understood that you didn’t need a cut this deep, and that the extra action was just cruel people being cruel. 

They lazily wrapped what looked like cheap bandage around his arm, and it stained red. When they let him go, he rolled off the table on the other side, clutching his arm close to his chest. 

Loki locked eyes with Eirik as the men walked away with what looked like a chalice of Loki’s blood in their hand. He had a manic look in his eyes, and Loki clenched his jaw, frustrated.

“I told you,” Erirk said first. “Willingly or not, you’re going to perform this spell. You’re going to bring them back-“

“No,” Loki’s voice raised. “No, I am not! You can take all the blood you want from me, you can beat me, threaten me, do whatever you want with me. But nothing you do can make me say the verses of the spell from my lips. They are sealed.”

Loki swallowed, almost bracing for another attack or blow of some kind, but Eirik just stared at him. The man tilted his head, lips springing out to lick his bottom lips. His stance seemed… hungry. 

Loki frowned, confused. The incision in his arm throbbed along with the beat of his heart, which was pounding fast. Loki just shook his head. “You’re insane,” he whispered. 

Eirik’s lips stretched wider, showing his teeth. Loki swallowed again. 

He stalked towards him, and Loki found that he couldn’t move, rooted to the ground in fear. The man walked around the altar to the other side where Loki stood, and towered over him. Loki looked up at him, trembling. “You say,” Eirik started, his voice low and terrifying. “That you will not do as I tell you. But I think I can convince you.”

Loki snorted, despite his fear. “What are you going to do,” he asked defiantly. “Torture me?”

Eirik studied him, and Loki wondered if he was thinking about it. “No,” he said. “But I can’t help but wonder, how might your brother hold up with such treatment?”

Loki’s heart dropped down to his boots. “You don’t have Thor,” he snarled. “You have nothing.”

Out of nowhere, Eirik backhanded him, the sound ricocheting off the cave’s walls. “You think I don’t see you, Loki? I do.”

Loki turned back to him, feeling blood trickle down his chin. “What?”

Eirik tilted his head, still looming over Loki like a tower. “The second prince, living in Thor’s shadow,” he said, and Loki twitched. “The second son of Odin, childishly and endlessly attempting to gain the attention of his father, when he knows he will never have it. When he can never be anything like the Mighty Thor.”

Loki lips trembled, and he felt tears sting in his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. “That’s… not true,” he faltered, and his voice broke. 

“Isn’t it,” Eirik’s voice was suddenly gentle, almost real. “You know what I speak of, Loki, you just don’t want to come to terms with it. Well,” his dangerous tone came back, and Loki could see the insanity in the man’s eyes. “Let me enlighten you. You will never be king. You weren’t made for king. That glory fell unto Thor, the golden boy, who shines like a star while you are cast in his shadow. You are a pathetic child, the back up child, useless until needed. 

“They don’t love you, Loki. They never have, and they never will. Your brother would sooner bask in the glory of your disappearance than come find you. The same goes for your parents. No one is searching for you, no one is coming to find you. You fight for nothing, you defy me for nothing, you are nothing. You are for better purpose if you simply shut your whiny mouth, and die bringing my family back. You are better off-“

Loki didn’t know what came over him, and he was aware of a single tear sliding down his cheek, but he couldn’t stop himself when he pulled back his uninjured arm and swung his fist right in the center of Eirik’s face. 

The man stumbled back, surprised, holding his bloody nose. 

Loki felt satisfied despite the knife that Eirik stabbed in his heart. 

He was trembling in anger and fear and utter terror, but he was still able to look Eirik in the eye and say, “you will not get me that way. You will not get me to do your dirty bidding. You call me pathetic? You’re the one who would bring back your dead family, submit them to torture, because of your selfishness. Because of your inability to leave them in peace.”

Eirik was in front of him again, but Loki didn’t stop, and his injured throat hurt when he spoke.

“Do you know what will happen when you summon them? They will be in utter anguish. Have you not educated yourself with the knowledge of necromancy? To summon the dead renders them ruined, and you would-“

“Do not speak to me of what I would, or would not do!”

“Someone must, since you’re such an idiot.”

Eirik’s boot slammed into his stomach, sending him back a few feet to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Eirik was suddenly on top of him, grabbing the lapels of his coat. “Perhaps I should just kill you, since you’re so disobedient.”

Loki laughed. “Go ahead,” he breathed.

There was a knife in Eirik’s hand, and he raised it, bringing it down to Loki’s chest and he closed his eyes, bracing for the pain. 

But it didn’t happen. 

It was silent, except for Loki’s and Eirik’s ragged breathing. 

Loki opened his eyes, and saw the knife just barely above his heart, Eirik’s hand holding the blade trembling. Loki saw the urge in the man’s eyes, the want to kill him. 

Eirik flipped the knife back into his pocket, standing up off Loki. He stared down on him, something close to fury swirling in his eyes. “No,” he said. “I still need you. But I am done being nice.”

Loki didn’t know what that meant, and he was sure he didn’t want to.

Dread filled his heart when he was alone again.

...

‘Not being nice’ was exactly what Eirik meant. He had men beat him senseless, he’d been deprived of food or water. He was denied sleep, every time his eyes steered towards closing, someone would jolt him awake with a swift kick to his stomach. The wound on his arm had become infected, and he was sure he was catching a slight fever from it. He’d removed the bloodied bandage to check it, a clear substance oozing out of it. He was offered another bandage, so he replaced the dirty one. It was the best he had. 

Loki could only imagine it had been close to five days. He did not really have a sense of time, only his now diminished magic providing a track of day or night. Loki wondered how Eirik expected him to perform any spell, especially one as draining as necromancy, in his state. 

Right now, he was alone, and he relished in the small reprieve he had. His swollen tongue slid across his dry, chapped lips. He needed water, but he hadn’t had any since he’d arrived, or food for that matter. It was true, he could go a lot longer than most people, but it was drawing close to where it hurt, his stomach aching for sustenance. 

He was laying on the ground, flat on his back. He hadn’t moved since the last beating, which he thought was perhaps a few hours ago. He swallowed, but it was dry, and it hurt going down his throat. 

His bones and muscles ached, his head was pounding, and it hurt to breathe. He was positive now that he had multiple cracked ribs. 

When his eyes began to droop closed, he allowed himself a small rest while he was alone. 

It was seldom a good one.

...

“Have you made your decision,” Loki dimly heard through his restless sleep. 

He pried his eyes open, and Eirik stood over him, a crazed look in his eye. 

Loki licked his lips, but it didn’t provide any relief. “Go to Hell,” he whispered weakly. 

Eirik looked down on him, a face of disgust forming on his features. He made a frustrated noise, and kicked Loki in his already injured ribs. 

He curled on his side, as if trying to protect his injuries. He struggled for breath. 

“You’re very irritating,” he heard Eirik say, but he sounded far away. He thought maybe he’d walked away.

Loki coughed a lame laugh. “Likewise...”

He thought he heard the man speak with someone else, and he heard scurrying footsteps. He couldn’t see anything, however, his eyes shut tight. 

It was silent for what felt like hours but was most likely only a few seconds, and then he felt hands on his arms pulling him apart, stretching him out and making him vulnerable. He fought it, but he was just too drained to stop Eirik from forcing some thick, black substance down his throat, burning as it slowly slid down. It felt like slugs were crawling down to his stomach, and when it plummeted, it felt hard. 

He coughed, and the men let go of him. 

He was offered no explanation despite his demanding them. Eirik did lean down next to him and smirk that damned smile Loki hated. “You’ll do as I say, your Highness,” he sang mockingly, and then walked away. 

When Loki began hallucinating, he realized the purpose of the poison. 

...

He was being yelled at, ridiculed by all of Asgard for his choice in combat, laughing at his magic and daggers.

His father was looking down on him with disgust and disappointment.

His mother snarled at him, calling him weak for wanting her comfort.

Thor was lifting Mjölnir, bringing it down upon Loki’s head, a loud crack resonating in his ears before it went black.

He was watching his people being slayed down in blood, screams echoing his mind. They were demanding answers, “why didn’t you save us?”

He was standing high up on a balcony, overlooking the palace before taking a step off and falling.

All of his fears were rushing through his mind, his heart was pounding way too hard in his chest, and it hurt, he hurt. 

He screamed.

...

When it ended, his eyes snapped open with a gasp, and he was laying on his side, his injured arm limply splayed out. He was drenched in sweat, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. 

It felt like it lasted hours, and maybe it had.

“Sweet dreams,” he flinched at Eirik’s voice behind him, but otherwise, offered no other reaction. 

Calloused fingers gripped his shoulder, pulling him on to his back, and he couldn’t suppress his whimper. Eirik was on his knees next to him, and Loki spotted more of the poison in his hand, and he weakly tried to struggle away, but Eirik just smirked, and held him in place.

A hand snaked up and roughly grabbed his chin, forcing him to look Eirik in his crazed, much too excited eyes. “No one is coming for you,” he said, almost gently. “Help me, and I’ll help you.”

Oh, Loki thought. He understood now. Eirik was playing the refuge. Showing kindness in substitute of pain. 

Loki wasn’t sure what brought it on, but he laughed. Perhaps delirium. 

Eirik snarled, shoving more of the poison in his mouth, and Loki couldn’t help but swallow it down. He choked on it, heaving before he caught his breath. 

Eirik began to walk away, but Loki made his voice work before he could be dragged back into his worst fears. “You’re a hypocrite...”

But he was lost before he could hear a response.

...

“My... -ince...”

“...oki...”

“Wa... up-“

Voices were distant, very distant, and Loki wondered if he was dying. It surely felt like he was. He felt detached from his body, as if he were floating away like tiny particles of dust. 

There were hands on him, and every touch hurt, his skin seemingly overly sensitive. 

There was a scream somewhere, and he wondered if it was him, but he doubted it. It didn’t sound like him. He didn’t know who it sounded like. 

There were the sounds of metal against metal, as if a sword fight were happening near him. 

Where was he, again?

“Prince Loki,” he heard a little more clearly, and he tried to pull his eyelids apart, but he couldn’t. “You’re safe.”

Nausea suddenly flared in his stomach, and he felt himself heave. Whoever it was who had his arms on him pushed him to his side, as if he didn’t want Loki to choke on his own vomit.

Well, Loki thought, at least this man didn’t intend him harm. 

Something thick crawled its way up his throat, and it was hot. He coughed it up on the ground next to him, and he wanted to see what it was, but his eyes still refused to open.

When he was done vomiting, he was pulled to his back again, and a rough-skinned hand gently tapped his cheek. “Open your eyes, prince.”

He wanted to voice that he was trying, but he felt too slow, his still swollen tongue moving too sluggishly. 

The hand tapped him again, and this time Loki tried harder, finally managing to get his eyes open. 

There was what appeared to be an Einherjar kneeling down next to him, and when he slid his eyes over he could see another one on his other side seemingly checking him for injuries. 

“There you are,” the man said, smiling softly. 

“Nng,” was the only response he could form, his throat too sore.

“Don’t try to speak, my prince,” the other Einherjar asked. 

“Is it safe to lift him?”

“It should be, for now. We need to get him to Eir.”

Loki closed his eyes again, confused. Why couldn’t he get a grip on his surroundings? 

“Loki,” he heard one of them announce. “Open your eyes.”

“Can’t,” was all his croaked voice spoke.

“Yes you can,” he said. “Come on, now.”

His voice was gentle, much gentler and soft than he’d heard in the past few... days? A week? He lost track. 

Either way, he succumbed to the man’s request and forced his eyes open. His head was pounding, and he began heaving again. 

He threw up the same thing he had before, and Loki saw it was black and thick, remnants of the poison meant to mess with his mind. It dribbled down his chin, and he hated it. 

“What is that,” the one on the left asked, voice concerned.

“I’m not sure.”

“What do we do?”

“We have to move him.”

“You’re sure it’s safe?”

“It’s going to have to be.”

Loki lost track of who was saying what, and his surroundings were suddenly too quiet. 

He felt hands reach under his knees and back, lifting him off the ground. He couldn’t stop the small noise he made.

“Shh, you’re alright.”

He was being walked deeper into the cave, though Loki thought perhaps that was the way out. 

He turned his head, looking back at his prison, and the last thing he saw before it went black was Erirk’s limp form laying in a pool of his own blood, his eyes staring up at the sky with no expression. 

In that moment, Loki couldn’t help but envy the man.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is rescued and returned to the safety of Asgard. But not all problems are solved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two for ya! When i say this took a dark turn, it really took a dark turn... I had this planned, but I added some new aspects to it. I wanted the first part to be like "oh this is bad" and then the second to be "oh, this is really really bad..."
> 
> Hope I did it!
> 
> WARNING: normally, i would put this warning in a tag, but no one in the story experiences it, only it is a small mentioning of it. But there is mention of sexual abuse, and so i wanted that to be disclosed before anyone read it. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, and here is the final part!

_ Pain reverberating through his bones, spreading down his neck, to his shoulders and chest, to his stomach, to his hips, his knees, his feet, all the way down and all the way around. All he knew was pain, it was his only friend. It screams at him, tears at his skin, peering at his component pieces like a gift, and he wants to vomit. He thinks he might. Better yet, he wants to scream. _

_ Oh, he is screaming, he can hear it. It’s loud, and it echoes, scratching against his throat and he doesn’t remember much but it’s  _ pain  _ and he’s so tired of it.  _

_ He doesn’t know how long it’s been, and for some unknown reason, he thinks it’s been longer than he remembers. It makes him feel uneasy, but he can’t think about it too much because there is a pain, and something is not right, why can’t he remember how long, and why can’t he remember why he is in so much pain.  _

_ It’s driving him mad, he can feel it. _

_ Something slices at his stomach, and he thinks it feels like cold, rusted metal. It digs deep into him before he hears the knife clutter against the ground, and he hopes it is over. But then he feels hands _ , bare hands,  _ and oh  _ Norns,  _ it begins to tear the wound apart and he feels himself struggle against... something... something at his wrists and ankles and even across his chest that keep him in place against stone, but his resistance is not enough, and the hands tear harder and he  _ screams.  _ A howl at the sky, a declaration of pain and hope lost, and he pushes back into his mind, and sweet, sweet oblivion takes him. _

_ ... _

Thor is there when they bring his brother back from the clutches of their enemies, held bridal style in a soldier’s arms, and Thor doesn’t even know the man’s name, but he can’t find it in himself to thank him or ask his name because Loki is  _ alive,  _ here and breathing. 

Heimdall stands near the sword, his all seeing eyes shining with something terrible when he spots the second prince.

The men, who look tired and haunted, stalk closer across the Observatory, Odin’s presence at Thor’s side, before he realizes something is very not right. 

Blood drips to floor in small droplets, following the men as they make their way closer to the royal family. Frigga had stayed behind to ready the healing chambers at notice of Loki’s coming return, and Thor immediately knows why. 

The blood drips from Loki’s form, and when Thor finally sees Loki completely, the horror hits him full force.

Despite his little brother’s rise and fall of his chest, he looks dead.  _ Very  _ dead. Multiple cuts and bruises litter the younger sibling’s skin, but they’re more than mere cuts, they’re complete  _ incisions, _ all marked by thick, jagged scars that run along like a stream on Loki’s much too pale skin. When Loki’s head lolls to the side in the man’s arms, he sees blues and purples coloring his brother’s neck, handprints of all kinds visible there. There is what seems to be a thick, black substance leaking from Loki’s lips as he chokes while he tries to breathe, and Thor wants... he doesn’t know. What does he do? What does anyone do?

He knew Loki was not being treated well in any way, but... this... this was pure torture, it was evil, and horrid and disgusting. He was so young. Too young for this. Thor was still young himself, and Loki much more so, and he didn’t want to think about the screams Loki must have howled, but he can’t help it. 

Bile rises in his throat, but he swallows it down. He can’t wallow now, not when Loki needs him as much as he appears to. 

He physically feels Odin All-Father trembling next to him, but to Thor’s surprise, it is not a parallel of Thor’s reaction, but it was anger. Pure, raw anger, and Thor looks up at him, really looks, and sees something there he’s never seen before. He can’t put his finger on it, and he can definitely see horror and pain and anger, but there is something else he can’t quite decipher. He isn’t sure he wants to. 

“My Lord,” one of the men, not the one holding Loki, who seems to be trying to carry him as delicately as he can, says. Thor thinks he remembers him as a healer sent on the rescue team. “He needs Eir, and fast.” 

His voice sounds out of breath, frantic, and Thor suddenly wants to know what these men experienced on this journey and what they saw. Although, maybe he doesn’t. He doesn’t know. 

Before he was frustrated at Odin’s forbidding him to join on the rescue mission once Heimdall found the location of the group working against the throne ( _ the group that tortured your brother) _ , but now, he is grateful. 

He just can’t take his eyes off of his brother, who has a slight frown between his eyebrows, his black-stained lips parted slightly. Sweat coated his skin, making him shine.

They get closer as Odin lifts Gungnir’s tip and slams it against the golden floor, and it’s hard. Suddenly, they are all of them in the healing chambers, and the 

man carrying Loki oh-so carefully rushes to Eir’s examination table, Odin following. Frigga is there, and oh Norns, Thor hates the look of pure horror on her face, and she lifts a hand to her mouth, and Thor thinks maybe it’s in utter shock, but he realizes it’s so she can stifle the sound that crawled its way up her throat. 

Eir looks down at the second prince in trepidation and uncertainty in her eyes, and barks, “I need everyone out,” and they leave, excluding that of the king and queen.

And Thor. Because he can’t, he just  _ can’t.  _ His brother lay here, on a stone slab with blood already dripping down its sides, and Thor suddenly sees flayed skin and he can see  _ muscle,  _ and he thinks this time he might vomit. He covers his mouth, much like his mother had done, to keep the bile down.

Eir turns around and sees the blonde still standing there, and looks regretful when she says, “Thor, I need you out too.”

“I...” he tries, but he doesn’t know what to say. He can’t take his eyes off of his brother, who looks like death, and maybe he is dead, or dying. And even if he’s not, how much of his mind can be as restored as his body, after this? 

Frigga moves from her youngest, with hesitation, Thor can see, and takes careful steps towards him. She takes his face in her hands, and they’re cold and gentle against his cheeks. 

He realizes then, he is crying. Tears are coming down his face in tendrils, and he wants to feel ashamed, because he’s Thor, the future king of Asgard and he shouldn’t be crying but he is. He is, he is, and he doesn’t know how to stop.

“Thor,” she whispers to him, her voice full of pain. “Love, we need you to go.” 

It trembles from her lips when she says it, as if she regrets it, like she doesn’t want him to leave. And he doesn’t want to leave either. How could they ask that of him? Not when Loki lay there like that.

But he looks up at his mother’s eyes and understands. Understands the sheer necessity for him to leave the room, he can wait outside of course, and so he does. 

He gives her a look of his own, hoping it tells her that everything will be okay, it has to be. He isn’t sure how convincing it is, because it feels wrong against his features. 

But in the end, he leaves. And he can’t help but feel like he is abandoning Loki when he does. 

...

_ He is laying on the stone ground, in a pool of his own blood, and he feels disgusting in it. But he can’t find it in himself to care. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that there are cuts all over his body, it doesn’t matter that Eirik continues to plague him with black poison to his mind, it doesn’t matter that he feels burns on his back that itch, and it doesn’t matter that he can’t reach them. It doesn’t matter. _

_ None of it matters. Because he can’t remember... _

_ He thinks maybe he wants to die.  _

_ How long has it been? He can’t remember. He wishes he could remember, but every time the pain begins again, he cowers away in his mind to escape, and it makes him feel almost shameful to know that it works. He doesn’t escape the pain, though. He never does. He never had. It’s as though it all starts all over again, and he can feel the pain at the time, but then suddenly he can’t remember it and it becomes distant in his mind. _

_ He feels pain, but he doesn’t remember why. He feels injuries litter his body like paint on a blank canvas, but he doesn’t remember why. He chokes on blood and black mud, and his mind feels like it is splintering, but he doesn’t remember why. He doesn’t remember why. He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t- _

_ He- _

_ “Loki...” _

_ It is a voice. A gentle one, and it is familiar, and he wants to reach for it, but he can’t move he can’t think he can’t  _ remember-

_ “It is okay, love. It’s okay.” _

_ No, he thinks.  _

_ No it isn’t. _

_ ... _

Time reaches towards eighteen hours before Frigga exits the healing chambers and meets Thor outside. He is cracking, he knows, and the look on his mother’s face makes him think maybe he will crumble away. 

“Is he,” he chokes out, but he can’t finish it. Is he dead?

Frigga slumps, and Thor can’t tell if it’s in relief of defeat. “He lives.”

Thor can hear it, in her voice and says, “there is a but, isn’t there,” and the look on her face confirms it. Thor sighs, feeling his heart drop down to his stomach like a rock. “Just tell me.”

Frigga hisses an inhale through her teeth, and it trembles in her chest as it escapes past her lips. “He does not wake.”

Thor feels his heart descend further past his stomach, down to his boots. “Is he on the mend, at least?” Frigga looks hesitant when he asks this, and doesn’t answer, and Thor worries his anger will get the better of him. He keeps it bay though, and tells her in a gentle tone, “mother, I can handle it.” 

Can you?

He sees her swallow, and it’s hard in her throat. “His body is on the mend, yes.”

Again, he can tell his mother does not finish her sentence and leaves a ‘but’ hanging in the air between the two. “Mother,” he almost growls, and regrets it when her expression twists in guilt. 

She sighs, a small tear sliding down her cheek. “His body is on the mend,” she repeats. “But his mind journeys on the opposite path.”

Yes, Thor thinks, his heart plummets past his boots onto the floor in a heaping, bleeding mess. “What does that mean,” he asks, and wonders if he even wants to know. 

He can’t get Loki’s arrival out of his mind, the tortured form of his little brother, his little brother so young, sweat shining against his pale, bloody and bruised and completely torn apart skin. 

Frigga pulls him to sit on a nearby gold bench, and he allows her, because he isn’t sure how much longer his legs will hold his body weight. She doesn’t seem to be in any better shape than he.

She bites her lip before speaking. “There is a defense mechanism, of sorts, for young sorcerers who experience particularly... traumatizing experiences,” she starts, and she sounds so tired. Thor wants to pull her in a hug, but his selfish desires to know about Loki outweigh his want to comfort his mother. He should be ashamed by it, but he isn’t. “The signs are usually easily detected, and that case remains the same in Loki’s situation.”

Thor tilts his head, confused. He feels his brows meeting in a frown. “I don’t understand. Defense mechanism?”

She nods, but it is stiff on her neck. She swallows again. “There have been many a case regarding this condition.”

“Explain,” he says.

And she does. She does and it makes him feel miserable.

“There are times when a sorcerer, specifically those of young age, experience something that is beyond endurance for them. Most cases I’ve seen of it involve grief; the loss of a loved one or a fallen comrade in battle,” she paused, and Thor dreads it. She wets her lips before continuing. “Loki’s case is among the rare oddity. To be pushed past your physical limitations of pain.”

She stops again, another tear rolling down her cheek, and Thor feels one of his own. 

Oh Norns... oh Norns...

She continues, and Thor feels like the Gods themselves have personally stabbed a dagger directly into the center of his heart. “To put this in simpler terms, the phenomenon I speak of is when a young sorcerer’s magic takes a hold of its own power upon sensing such distress, and plunders its holder deep into their minds where they are spared as much pain and grief as possible.”

Oh, Thor thinks, that makes sense. And he hates it. For Loki to think that he had no hope left other than to lock himself deep in his mind to escape the pain. Thor should have been better, faster, smarter, but he had to go and get his head caved in and leave Loki to fend for himself where he could not. 

And Loki suffered for it. 

He failed him. He failed his little brother.

His mother’s mouth opens again. “I imagine Loki does not realize he has been gone as long as he has, but it all depends on when he pushed back into his mind.”

Thor hates to admit it, because it’s been far too long for the second prince to be missing and captured by enemies of the throne, but today would mark thirteen days since that dreadful day Loki was taken. 

“Can I see him,” he chokes past his throat, and it hurts. 

Hesitantly, reluctantly, and oh-so slowly, his mother nods. 

He follows her in, each step he takes resounding apprehension as he passes the threshold.

His father is still present when he and his mother make their way in, but he looks pale and exhausted. It’s a look Thor knows no one will ever see past these doors; a king and a father fighting with one another on their responsibilities. In all the time Thor spent outside the door waiting, his father didn’t exit once. He is seated on a golden chair with a high back, and Thor sees two of the same chairs are spread around the bed, seemingly to be placed there for Thor and Frigga.

He can see Loki as he gets closer, flat on his back with a soft pillow (his favorite pillow from his rooms, Thor notices) under his head. It’s a taller bed of sorts, made for an individual. His hair had grown slightly since he was taken. It’s a small difference, but it’s one Thor can see. 

He was pale white against the already white sheets, making him look more like death than he was. He was covered in a golden silk blanket, coming up just a little past his stomach, which is all being held together with magical stitches and bandage. There is no blood peaking through, and that is a relief, at least.

His skin is riddled with scars and still new cuts, and some of them are thick and jagged and Thor doesn’t want to know the circumstances of their presence. He sees a particularly ugly one down the center of his torso, starting above his chest and going all the way down to his navel, but it isn’t clean. It’s not as if someone took a delicate blade and made a gentle cut, it’s like someone roughly stabbed him and then... tore him apart. 

There is sweat on the younger prince’s brows, which are still pulled together in a frown, like he’s in pain. But according to mother Loki isn’t aware of it. He’s so far deep into his own mind to escape it, and Thor is not sure how to pull him out. 

Eir steps up to the royal family, and she looks miserable, tired, and Thor almost sees a rage past her exhaustion. She opens her mouth as she addresses Frigga. “I assume you informed Prince Thor to the situation.”

Frigga doesn’t take her eyes off her youngest when she nods in confirmation. 

Odin looks up at her though, and Thor follows his movements. He can’t look at his little brother anymore. 

Eir looks terrible when she speaks again. “I would like to give full disclosure on the second prince’s injuries,” she says, but her voice is rough, and Thor can tell she very much does not want to give full disclosure on the second prince’s injuries. “Other than his mind being unreachable as of now, there are multiple lacerations across his body, and I would give every one, but it would be simpler for me to say they are from the thighs up. There are broken bones, including that of his ribs, his left wrist, collarbone, multiple fingers on both hands, and his right elbow was dislocated at some point. There are traces of a poison within his blood stream, but it is not fatal, and it will wear off. Though the origins of it, I am unsure.”

She pauses, closing her eyes and looking like she may throw up. Thor looks down at his brother again, and sees the injuries she lists. Loki’s left wrist is indeed encased in a cast of sorts and his right elbow seems to have been put back in place, but it is bruised. He could see the contusions on Loki’s ribs when he walked in, but somehow they seem darker now. His fingers are swollen, but appear to be healing.

He turns his gaze back to Eir, who apparently isn’t finished. “He is on the mend, and I do not anticipate any chance of Loki’s death, but his healing time will be... a harrowing duration.”

“Is there any way to wake him up,” Thor asks, and he wants to grimace at his childish tone, but he can’t find in himself to move his features into any expression. 

Eir licks her lips, and looks down at him sadly. “As of right now, no. It all depends on him. However, I can say with confidence, there has never been a case where one has never awoken from this. Loki will wake up. I just can’t declare when.”

Thor swallows. “Is there a time window of any sort?”

Eir hesitates, and swallows herself. It looks to be with difficulty. “No.”

Hope dwindles down in his heart at that, and he looks down at his brother. He doesn’t speak again, just leans his head down near Loki’s. He wants to say something to him, comfort him, tell him: it’s okay, you can come back now, you’re safe. But he can’t. He just closes his eyes, and hopes his close presence is enough.

Odin clears his throat, but Thor still does not move. Just listens. “Is there any sign of-“ and he can’t finish the question, and Thor feels shocked at his father’s broken tone. 

Eir seems to understand, and Thor thinks perhaps Frigga does too because he hears her sob. “No,” Eir voices. “There is no sign of sexual abuse of any kind.”

Oh, Thor thinks, stomach churning. That’s one piece of good news, at least. 

It doesn’t feel like it, though.

He hears Odin exhale in relief, and he nods at Eir, dismissing her. She leaves for now, but Thor knows she will come back to tend to Asgard’s second prince who lays here looking like death.

As soon as Eir is gone, Frigga sobs again, her hands resting on her youngest son’s arms, as if trying to convey safety. Odin puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“What do we do,” Thor finally voices, and it’s barely audible. He can’t move from his position next to Loki. 

“All we can do is wait,” his father answers, something rough and raw in his voice. 

Thor doesn’t know how to accept that. 

But it seems he must.

...

It isn’t until three days later that he is practically kicked out of the healing chambers to get some food and rest. He hadn’t left that room since he stepped foot in it, and Loki still hadn’t woken. 

He is reluctant, but he does manage to make his legs carry his weight as he leaves the room and walks around the palace without a destination, in a haze. 

He is greeted by Sif and the Warriors Three, and they just look at him with awful expressions. They don’t say a word, at first, just look at him, and he can’t find it in himself to speak a word either.

In the end, they all hug him one by one, Sif’s being particularly tighter than the others. 

“I am so sorry, Thor,” she whispers in his ear while she is embracing them. 

He just nods when she steps back, and they all look at him again, and he feels terrible. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“All will be well,” Volstagg tries, but it sounds rough. Like Volstagg doesn’t believe it either.

“What can we do for you, Thor,” his attention turns to Fandral, who’s eyes have something in them that’s raw. “How can we help?”

He looks at them blankly. He just shakes his head, because he doesn’t know what to do and he can’t get his Norns-damned voice to work. 

Hogun pats him on the shoulder softly, so gentle as though he is afraid he will break. 

He very well might.

“Thor,” Sif says, and he turns his attention to her. 

Finally, he clears his throat, and opens his lips after getting moisture in them. A voice does come out, but it doesn’t sound like him. “Thank you for your comfort,” he rasps. 

Fandral looks hesitant, but he asks, “is it true, Thor? Is Loki really... he won’t wake up?”

He just shakes his head, and looks down. 

Volstagg coughs a little. “There are rumors...” but he can’t finish it.

Thor feels for them, suddenly. He had to admit that Loki was not as close to Sif and the Warriors Three as Thor was, but they were still his friends and they cared about him. Perhaps he should attempt to let them visit Loki, but a selfish part of him pushes the thought away.

As for the rumors, he’d heard them. That the second prince was tortured beyond endurance that he was nothing but a hallow shell now. The former is true, the latter is not.

He nods, though. “Yes,” he manages. “The rumors you hear are true.”

Thor looks up at them, and they look miserable. Like they want to do something, to help, but they don’t know what to do. 

Thor gives them a dry laugh. “Look like that for about three more days, and you’ll be where I am now.”

Sif shakes her head, as if she doesn’t understand. “But why? What did this group want from him?”

Thor shrugs. “According to mother and father, they mentioned something about needing Loki’s magic. But I have to wonder...” he swallows, Loki’s form laying there in the healing rooms flash through his mind. “I have to wonder if all they wanted was to hurt him.”

“Do you know who was behind this?”

He shakes his head. “They will not tell me.”

Which was probably the most frustrating thing behind Loki’s condition. He’d asked, but they wouldn’t tell him, and he didn’t understand why. Did he not deserve to know?

Perhaps Odin and Frigga could not manage the words themselves. But he doubted that. He has to wonder if it’s perhaps because they just want to forget about him. Odin told him the man behind it all had been killed in the rescue mission, and more than likely the group would break apart without their leader.

“I’m sorry,” Fandral says. 

Hogun still hadn’t spoken, Thor notices, and he looks at him. He has something in his gaze that looks haunted. 

Thor doesn’t mention it.

“I was pushed away by mother,” he says. “Told me to go get some rest, and get some food.” 

Volstagg tilts his head. “Come, then, Thor. We can eat together.”

Thor looks up at them again, and he doesn’t really have the appetite, but they’re all three of them looking at him with this raw, haunted expression and he realizes he can’t turn down the offer. He nods. “Alright,” he says, and he follows them away.

...

_ He feels numb, he realizes. It is a new feeling after... days? weeks? of nothing but pain. He wants to... he doesn’t know.  _

_ He wants to relish in this reprieve for as long as he has it, but he is afraid to rest because rest goes by so fast, it’s like a blink of an eye, and then there will be pain again and he doesn’t want to feel pain anymore. He doesn’t want to bleed anymore, or cry, or scream. He wants to go home. He wants to see his mother, his brother, he wants to see Odin and tell him ‘look, I’m doing it, I’m denying a mad man’s request, I am defying him. Look father, I’m as strong as Thor, I can be good too, I am good, look! Look!’ _

_ But he isn’t sure how much longer he can deny it. He doesn’t know how much longer his defiance will last, and his body fills with shame because he should be stronger than this. He probably should have never been captured in the first place. He should have been faster, better, smarter.  _

_ He wonders if everyone at home is safe. Surely they are. People died for his capture, and he is sure people are mourning (way to go, Loki) but surely they are safe. He pictures Thor laying there, his head caved in against the stone, blood pooling. _

_ But, no.  _

_ He didn’t see any of that. They just knocked Thor unconscious. He was fine, he was safe. Loki was the one in trouble, the one who was currently craving to be in his big brother’s arms, much like they did when they were children when Loki would wake from a night terror.  _

_ He wants to go home. He wants to go home so bad, but there was nothing. If he did break and perform the spell Eirik was demanding, he would most certainly die. But if he remained here, like this, like a broken, bleeding wretch... well... he wasn’t sure his mind could handle it. _

_ An image flashed of someone on top of him while four others hold him down and he feels a knife drag across his exposed thigh, and they cross over it again, forming an X. Someone pushes through the center of the wound, but before he can remember the pain, the image is gone, and so is the memory. _

_ He wants to go home. He wants to go home. He wants to go home. Please, Norns, please make this stop and let me go home. _

_ I am so afraid. _

_ “You don’t have to be afraid, Loki.” _

_ Yes, yes he did, because suddenly he was restrained down to a rack, and his ankles and wrists were stretched apart enough for him to scream, and when he struggles, somehow his elbow pops out of place, and he screams louder. _

_ But again, the image is gone and he can’t remember it. _

_ Why was he screaming? _

_ “It’s okay. It’s okay.” _

_ No, he thinks. No it isn’t. It isn’t okay. Please, please, please, he can’t. _

_ He can’t anymore. Please... _

_ “You’re safe, Loki. No one can hurt you here. If only you’d wake up.” _

_ No, I don’t want to. Once I do, there will be pain, he didn’t want it. Not anymore. _

_ “There will be no pain, my son. You are safe. You are safe. Just wake up.” _

_ He wants to. He wants to so bad.  _

_ Please... _

_ “That’s it, Loki. Just wake up. It will all be over. Just come back to us, Loki.” _

_ Mother? Is that his mother’s voice. It’s so soft, so gentle, but he can’t really hear it quite right. _

_ “Yes, Loki. Come, now. Wake up. We miss you terribly.” _

_ He fights it. It’s his mother, and he wants her so bad, so he fights for awareness, for wakefulness.  _

_ He fights. _

_ He fights. _

_ He fights. _

_ ... _

Loki’s eyes open six days after his return. It is a slow awakening, and his eyelids feel sticky and heavy when he finally manages to pry them open. He expects to be restrained down in some way, or laying on the stone ground awaiting his next beating, or Eirik’s grating voice next to his ear. He expects pain. The thoughts drain away and suddenly he can’t remember.

But he is numb. He feels as light as a feather, as if he could float if he were to jump off the edge of a cliff. 

There are hands on him, but they’re soft and gentle, and so he doesn’t shy away from them. 

He stares up at the ceiling for a moment too long before he turns his head to look at his mother sitting in a golden chair next to him. She is smiling, but it is tight and wrong against her features. 

He can’t remember. 

“Loki,” she says, and he blinks at her. She looks at him for a moment, and then he sees tears slips down her cheeks. “Loki.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Why is she crying? Why is he in the healing chambers? 

He can’t remember.

His lips part slightly, and he notices how dry his tongue is, and he works his jaw, clears his throat, and manages to croak, “water?”

She reaches over to take a goblet from someone, oh, it’s Eir, and holds his head up so he can take a sip. 

And oh, it’s so relieving. He doesn’t know how long he went without water, but his tongue immediately loses its swelling as the cold water (oh it’s so good) falls down his throat in a comforting drip. Why was he so parched?

He can’t remember.

He feels the goblet pull away from his lips and he makes a small sound of protest.

“Not too fast,” Frigga says. “You can have some more in a little while, but I do not want you to get sick.”

He lets his head fall back against the pillows, exhausted. Still, he doesn’t know why he is in the healing rooms, or why Frigga is looking at him like that, with something raw and horrible.

He can’t remember.

Why can’t he remember?

He must have made his distress obvious on his face, because Frigga leans down closer to him as Eir walks on the other side of him to... examine him? 

“It’s alright, child,” Frigga says, but it doesn’t sound alright. She doesn’t alright. 

Why?

He can’t remember.

He can’t remember.

He can’t remember. 

Why can he not  _ remember? _

She gives him an awful look before looking up at Eir. “Have you informed Thor and Odin?”

Eir nods as she moves around him, touching him gently and checking what Loki thinks to be bandages, but he won’t look down at himself. He can’t remember why, but he dreads seeing himself. “They should be on their way,” she says softly.

Frigga slides her gaze back to him. “Loki,” she says again, and it frustrates him that he can’t figure out why she sounds like that. “What do you remember?”

Nothing... absolutely nothing. 

He just shakes his head. She frowns at him, but before she can speak again, the doors open. He doesn’t turn to see who it is, already knowing.

Odin stalks in first, Thor a little behind them, and they both have the same look on their faces that Frigga did, though Odin looks a little more closed off than them. 

“Brother...” he hears and he looks to Thor. Loki frowns, unsure what to say. 

What does he say? Why can’t he get a grip on his thoughts or his surroundings. Why can’t he remember?

He swallows, licking his lips. “I-“ he tried but immediately his voice falls away. He coughs, and he winces when it hurts.

Eir looks at him. “Is your throat sore?”

Loki waits a moment, and then shakes his head. “No, sorry...” he croaks. “I think I’m just... confused. Sorry...” he blinks slowly.

“It’s alright,” his mother immediately comforts. 

His father takes a seat in one of the chairs, and Loki sees something in his gaze he’d never seen before. He can’t quite name it, but it’s there and it’s grim. It makes Loki uneasy. “My son,” he whispers, and he reaches out his hand, and Loki watches it hover above him, but never touching. Like his father is afraid he will shatter.

Thor still hadn’t moved, and he continues to stand there like an idiot. Loki ignores him for now, because Eir is pulling bandages away and renewing them. There is a lot, and he can’t remember gaining these injuries. 

His ribs throb, and his left wrist is sore at his side where he feels a plaster of some sort encase the bone. His fingers hurt when they twitch. He wants to sit up, or lift his head, or... something. But he can’t. He can feel magic numbing the pain he should be feeling (pain? No, no more of that, what?) while also numbing his movements. 

He just closes his eyes again, suddenly feeling exhausted. 

Eir puts a gentle hand on his warm forehead, he must be running a slight fever because he starts shivering slightly, and Loki opens his eyes again at her touch. “Rest some more, Loki. You’re safe.”

He wants to question that. Why are they telling him that? Of course he is safe. But he just closes his eyes and lets sleep drag him back down, unsure why he is suddenly so afraid of rest.

He can’t remember.

His dreams cruelly remind him.

...

When Loki wakes again, he is very much aware of why he is in the healing chamber and why he is covered in bandages and why he is being numbed of pain. 

He remembers. 

All too clearly. Eirik’s voice is in his ear, it’s dark and mocking, and he sees the smirk on his face and Loki shivers. 

He remembers blades and jagged knives, and cool metal on his wrists and ankles. He remembers feeling completely alone and afraid. He remembers pain, pain, pain, and he isn’t sure now why he chose to wake up. 

He remembers the moment he underestimated Eirik and his cruelty. He knew once he’d defied the man that he would be angry and attempt to force Loki’s hand, but he never dreamed the people who worked for him would... hurt him like they had. He never dreamed Eirik had that barbarism in him. He never imagined that he would ever have to endure anything of that caliber, or at least at his age. 

Torture is not something he ever acknowledged as something to be on the watch for. He was a prince of Asgard, he was a son of Odin, no one would dare, but they did dare and they did hurt him and they tore him apart and he isn’t sure what to do now.

When he opens his eyes, it’s not Frigga there next to him as he expected, but it is his father. It is Odin All-Father of Asgard, who Loki suspected would be dealing with more important matters, not sitting here waiting for Loki to wake. 

His father leans forward on the edge of his seat slowly, and something flashes in his expression Loki didn’t catch. “Loki,” he says quietly.

Loki parts his lips, licking them before speaking an awful sounding voice. “Father?”

Odin puts a calloused, gentle hand on his shoulder. “Yes, Loki. It is me.”

Loki doesn’t know why, but he flicks his gaze away from his father’s harrowing one, because he can’t keep his eyes locked on Odin. He can’t.

Odin exhales a sigh, and waits a moment before speaking, as if considering something. “You remember, don’t you?”

Loki could not suppress his flinch. Shame flowed through him again. He should be stronger than this. He was a son of Odin. He should act as one. 

But he can’t suppress his flinch and he can’t stop the hitch in his breath when he nods his head away from his father. He feels his hands tremble at his sides, and feels the hand on his shoulder move to one of his trembling ones in comfort. He manages to still them, but something vibrates under his skin. 

“Loki,” he says, and he knows he wants Loki to look at him. But he can’t. He just can’t. “Loki, it’s okay.”

_ It’s okay, Loki. Just do this for me. Bring my family back and I will help you. _

He pushed Eirik’s voice away and slowly turns his head to his father’s. Odin has that same look in his eye that Loki doesn’t understand. 

He looks away again. 

“Loki,” he says again. “Why do you turn away from me?”

He feels his heart stutter in his chest. “I am sorry,” he whispers. 

Odin blinks. “Whatever for, child?”

His voice holds something heavier than Loki ever remembered being there. He still can’t turn to look at him, but he opens his mouth. “I should be stronger...”

He sees Odin’s lips part slightly in surprise in his peripheral vision. “Loki,” he mutters. It sounds anguished. “Loki, you should not...” he falters with a soft sigh. 

Loki squeezes his eyes shut, but when he does he sees the cave he was tortured in and can’t stand it, so he opens them again. 

“Loki, will you look at me?”

He doesn’t want to disobey his father, his king, so Loki slowly turns his head to Odin’s. Loki thinks he finally knows the expression his father carries, and it’s horrible on his features. It’s not right, it shouldn’t be on the most powerful being in all the Nine Realms’ face, but it is. 

“I would ban the notion that you should have been stronger first, but I cannot,” he says, and Loki flinches. “But, it is only because you are the strongest person I know.” 

Loki twitched, and he stares at his father as if he’d gone three more heads upon his neck. “No,” he almost sobs. “No I am not.”

“Why do you say that,” Odin challenges.

His breath hitches again, and he wants to flee. He wants to run away from here, or at least away from his father’s gaze. He coughs. “I should have been stronger, smarter, faster. I never should have allowed myself to be taken in the first place,” he looks away again, because he just can’t. He can’t. “I couldn’t handle it, so I let my magic drown my consciousness to oblivion. I was not even aware I was doing it.”

He breaks off, because he doesn’t trust his voice. When Loki forced himself to look back at Odin, he looks ghastly. He’d gone a shade paler, but smoothed his expression after a moment. “Loki-“

“It’s pathetic,” Loki blurts, locking his eyes on Odin’s one. “Don’t try to tell me it’s not.”

“I will tell you what I wish,” Odin’s voice snapped, and Loki felt shame again. “And I will tell you that none of that is true. You fought that man and his demands tooth and nail. I do not care that your magic took hold of your mind. It changes nothing about your character, Loki, or who you are. It does not make you less able or less strong. 

“Do not think I don’t know the mechanisms of the phenomenon. You still felt every bit of pain, Loki. You just did not remember them once it was over. It did not numb a thing. You could have easily bowed under it, done what he asked during that duration, but you did not.”

Loki stared up at him wide eyed. Suddenly, he heard Eirik’s voice again, telling him  _ they don’t love you, Loki. They never have and they never will _ and wonders who is telling the truth. 

He wants to say that if Thor had the magic Loki did, he would not have succumbed to such a luxury. The mighty Thor would have taken it like a man, like a king and a prince, like a son of Odin. Loki just isn’t like Thor. And he never will be. He always knew that. Eirik just reminded him of it.

He feels a tear slip past his eyelashes, and he looks away when another slides down. When he speaks again, it is quiet and with shame. “I don’t want to remember it...” he whispers, and more tears are flowing because he remembers it all so clearly and he doesn’t want to. 

He feels hands digging in his wounds and sloshing his insides around where they shouldn’t be. He feels heavy bands holding his wrists and ankles down flat on his back while they slice and cut and tear and he feels bile rise up his throat, and he doesn’t think he will keep it down.

He tries to sit up, breathing a little too fast. He feels his father’s hands trying to hold him down, and he panics but says, “I’m going to be sick,” and the hold on him relents and his father doesn’t bring him a basin fast enough, instead he vomits over the side of the bed. 

“Oh, Loki...” he hears, and feels a strong, comforting hand on his back. 

He heaves a moment longer, and when he comes back up, he feels a headache pounding behind his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

“Hush,” his father whispers. “Just rest, Loki. We will discuss this further later.”

And he thinks, he  _ thinks  _ he sees a single tear slip from Odin’s own eye before he loses consciousness.

...

His dreams are seldom good ones. And he jerks awake before Eirik can shove more black poison down his throat and laugh while Loki struggles against it. 

Frigga is there the next time he wakes. But so is, much to Loki’s dislike, Eir. He knows she is only a healer and is trying to help, but he doesn’t particularly appreciate being poked and prodded at after such a long time of being poked and prodded at. 

“Loki,” Frigga says gravely, and he realizes he is breathing a bit too fast. He looks at her and tries to push the memories away. 

He takes in a gulp of air and holds it for a moment before doing it again, and after two of these, he is breathing steadily. He relaxes into the sheets, wanting to be left alone. But he sees Eir get closer to his other side and he knows he will have to answer some questions he very much does not want to.

“Eir just needs to get some answers about some things,” his mother starts. “You may, of course, decline.”

He knows that is a temporary reprieve, however, and decides he would rather just get it over with. He nods, and Eir looks at his mother with trepidation before turning back to him. 

“Loki,” she begins, something horrible in her voice, and he was getting very tired of people saying his name like that. “I just need to ask some questions.”

He bites the inside of his cheek when he looks at her. “Alright,” he manages.

She seems to consider something for a moment before she inhales sharply and let’s it go slowly. “Firstly, regarding your health, you are on the path to recovery, though I understand you are still in pain. I will keep the numbing spell going for a while, and we can ween off of that a little at a time.”

“Alright,” he says again, but he notices he doesn’t really feel like himself. Like he’s speaking these words but he’s far away.

“Secondly, I do have some concerns in relations to some things we discovered upon your return.” When she speaks those words, there is something harrowing in them. Again, Loki hates it, but allows her to continue. “There were traces of a poison in your blood stream, though it’s purpose is unknown to me. Do you know what the poison is and what it does?”

Loki can’t help but shift under her gaze, and he feels very uncomfortable. He still swallows and mentally prepares himself to answer. “I would be able to tell you the purpose of the poison, but what it was and where it is from, even I am unaware. I was never able to acquire that information, and he...” he trails off, shifting again. “No one had any reason to tell me.”

Frigga and Eir exchange nervous glances, and it makes Loki feel even smaller than he already does. Eir glances back at him. “What does it do? It is not fatal, but it was evident enough that it caused you distress.”

Loki swallows past the lump in his throat, and he suddenly feels like the thickness of the black substance is sliding down his throat again. He closes his eyes and shakes his head to clear it away. He wets his lips. “The purpose of it was to... it... it manipulates the mind,” he finally gets out. “Makes the victim see their fears, or creates new ones, similar to a dream.”

Eir nods, but the look she’s giving him makes anger spike, but he keeps it down. “I see.”

“It is not an experience I recommend,” he tries to joke, but it comes out a little more dull than he wanted. Frigga flinches in the corner of his vision, and he thinks maybe it wasn’t a very good joke. “Was there anything else?”

The look on Eir’s face tells him there is definitely more questions, but she doesn’t think she can stomach them, so she shakes her head. “No,” she answers. “That will be all.”

For now...

She leaves hastily, and then it is just him and his mother. He feels her dreadful eyes on him, and he wants to melt into the sheets and disappear. 

He was not made of glass. He was not going to break.

_ You believe that, Loki _ he hears, and it’s directly in his ear. It’s Eirik’s voice and he flinches away, looking towards the noise but there is no one there. 

Frigga’s face worsens, and Loki thinks he might die. “Loki-“

“M’fine,” he blurts. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, my son,” she sings, and he can’t help himself, not anymore. He turns on his side, with struggle, closer to his mother and curls next to her, who takes him in her arms. “My strong boy, my brave son.”

He doesn’t feel strong, and certainly doesn’t feel brave. He just feels like a failure. Like he might bow under the weight of... all of the emotions he’s feeling, some he can’t even name.

He hears himself sob, but he can’t find it in himself to feel shame. Tears fall from his eyes and he sinks into the sheets. “I want... I don’t know, I want-“

“Shh,” she soothed. “I know, my boy. I know.”

“Make it stop.”

He hears a sob come from her then, and he feels something close to guilt. “I am sorry,” she tells him. “I am so sorry.”

“I know I am safe,” he chokes past his tears. “I know I am. But I am reliving it, every moment of every day. When I am awake, when I sleep, when... when-“

“I know, shh, I know.”

He curls tighter into himself, closer to his mother. “I can’t make it stop.”

“I know.”

She repeats it, over and over, and tries to comfort him. It works, a little. He thinks maybe this is just something he will have to learn to live with, his fear that Eirik was right around the corner, that men and women he didn’t recognize were coming to tear him apart. That his memory of the pain he experienced will forever be engraved in his brain, and perhaps the marks on his body will never fade.

He wants to be stronger than this. He hates it. He hates himself. More than anything, he hates Eirik for doing this to him, for leaving a giant stain on Loki’s heart that was his. 

He just cries into his mother’s pretty dress, and hopes beyond hope her comfort will be enough.

...

Another week later, he feels a bit better and he is finally able to stand on his own. He tests his own strength when he is alone, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed. He plants his feet on the ground, and pushes himself up. 

It hurts, and his legs shake, but he thinks maybe this is a little victory of his own. 

He tries to walk around the room, one leg in front of the other. It’s slow, and his muscles tremble because of their disuse. But again, it feels good. Another victory.

He makes his way back to his bed, and takes a seat. As soon as he does, the doors open, and it is Thor.

Thor... 

He hadn’t seen his brother since he first woke up. Which was weeks ago, and a small spike of anger runs through him, because why didn’t Thor come see him? He can’t find it in himself to be angry, though, because it’s Thor. And he wants to run and hug him, but he can’t do that either. 

Thor looks like he wants to run and hug him too, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes careful, timid steps towards him, as if afraid that if he got too close too fast Loki might bolt. Or maybe Thor might bolt.

“Hello,” his older brother croaks finally. He gives Loki a tight smile. “You’re up and about?”

Loki nods, timid himself. “Yes,” he answers. “Eir said I may attempt to move around the room. I am still not permitted to be outside these walls, however.”

Thor chuckles. “I imagine that may be maddening for you,” he tries to joke playfully. “You always strike me as someone who needs to be moving, to be about at his own dilemma.”

Loki shrugs, looking down at his lap. “It’s not so bad,” he says. “It could certainly be worse.”

And it could. 

He looks back up at his brother, who looks like he understood his statement. He feels a little pang of guilt, but ultimately doesn’t feel too horrible about it. 

“How are you feeling,” Thor asks him. 

Loki tenses a little at the question, but otherwise feels okay, he thinks. “I am better. I am almost completely healed.”

His brother’s gaze is a mix of emotions that Loki can’t pick out which ones he wants to be angry at. He sees pity, definitely, and hates it. “That’s good,” Thor says.

Loki just nods and tries to give Thor a genuine smile, but it feels tight across his features. “I like to think so.”

Thor chuckles a small one. He steps further inside and closer to Loki. His steps are cautious towards him. Finally, though, he drags a chair in front of Loki and takes a seat. “I am sorry,” Thor starts. “I have been absent as of late. I was told to keep my distance for a while. But I found when I woke up this morning, I could not stay away any longer.”

Loki wants to bite at him, tell him that was selfish of him. But he really is happy to see his golden brother, despite how in his shadow he is. “It’s alright,” he says, giving him a playful smile. “I understand. I do not imagine I would have managed much of a conversation.” 

Thor doesn’t look convinced, but plays along and chuckles softly anyways. Loki is grateful for it. 

Loki shifts, already tiring from sitting upright. He doesn’t move to lay down, though. Thor seems to notice this, however, and frowns. “Are you alright?”

Loki musters another smile, but he is half wincing at the same time. “Yes, I am just a bit tired, is all.”

Thor’s eyes shoot to the pillows on the bed. “If you need more rest,” he starts.

“No,” Loki interrupts too quickly for his liking. Thor just looks at him, and Loki swallows under his gaze. “No,” he tries a little softer. “I am alright.”

Thor seems hesitant, but relaxes in his seat, nodding. 

The silence is awkward to say the least. Loki just looks down at his lap for a moment then looks back up, sighing. “So,” he starts. “How have you been?”

“Me,” Thor asks, seemingly stunned somehow. Loki just nods again. “I suppose I have been... worried. But I am in good health nonetheless.”

“Worried?”

Thor blinks at him, then swallows hard. “Worried,” he confirms. “About you.”

Loki suddenly feels very small next to Thor. “Oh,” he says a little stupidly. 

Thor leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “How are you, Loki? Really?”

His breath hitches in his throat, but he keeps it under control. He coughs to clear away the lump lodged in his throat, swallowing. “I am fine.” Thor doesn’t look convinced, and just looks at him a little dryly, Loki notices. “I am.”

“Okay,” Thor says, but considers something for a moment. “It would be okay if you were not, though.”

“Well,” he bites. “I am. So there’s nothing to worry about.”

“There’s plenty to worry about.”

“Not me,” he says through clenched teeth. “I do not need you to worry about me.”

“You have it anyways.”

Loki rolls his eyes, realizing his breathing had quickened and tries to slow it back down. When he looks back at Thor, there’s something guilty there. But there is also a determination there, and Loki softens his voice. “I know,” he relents. “I just... I am fine, truly. I will heal. Am healing.”

Thor nods, seeming to let the subject go. He studies him for a moment, and Loki shifts in his seat. “Our friends would like to see you,” he begins with a smile. “Volstagg seems adamant.” 

Loki gives him a half smile, and it’s the closest he’s been to a genuine smile in a while. “Well,” he muses. “I will have to humor them.”

Thor snorts a little. “Of course.”

Thor is looking at him with that knowing smile and Loki’s own widens across his face and stretches closer to his eyes without realizing he is doing it. There’s a warmth in his chest then. It’s been a long time since he felt that. 

It’s always Thor. Always Thor who pushes past his barrier. And he loves him. He loves him so much, that sometimes it hurts and he hates it. 

_ Your brother would rather bask in the glory of your disappearance than come find you... _

_ You weren’t made for king. That glory fell unto Thor, the golden boy who shines like a star while you are cast in his shadow... _

_ When you can never be anything like Thor... _

Those words Eirik spoke to him a while ago, at the beginning of everything. He still struggles with them, because he almost believes them sometimes. He’d always thought that way. He was so excited to be participating in a coming of age ceremony at Thor’s side, something he thought he would get left behind in. 

Maybe Loki wasn’t made for king. Maybe he is cast in Thor’s shadow, and maybe sometimes he hates it, despises it, and even hates Thor. 

But right now, he can’t. His big brother, his protector, is sitting here and looking at him with something so loving in his gaze, and it’s directed to Loki. 

Either Loki is weak and can’t resist it, or his own emotions of love take over, because there is a tear sliding down his cheek against his smile.

Thor frowns. “Loki?”

Loki shakes his head, another tear coming. “No, I’m okay. I just... I missed you.”

Thor crumbles, standing to his feet and pulling his little brother in his strong arms. He squeezes him, and it hurts a little, but Loki can’t find it in himself to care. He lets Thor hold him.

“I am here now, Loki. I am here. I will not leave you again.”

He hears the guilt in Thor’s voice, and he knows his brother must feel responsible for Loki’s capture. Loki is aware he needs to take that guilt away, because it was stupid. Thor took no part in Loki’s suffering, and he should not think that way. Later though. They could speak about it later. 

“I am here,” Thor says again, his grip tightening.

I am here.

I am here.

I am here.

...

Another week passes. Thor visits him, brings him books and food and puzzles. The Warriors Three and Sif visit, which is a little awkward to say the least, but it was good too. His mother is there everyday, watching him improve, though he is aware it must be little in her eyes. 

His father doesn’t come back. He wants to be bitter about, but he is so tired.

It’s when Loki is finally permitted to return to his chambers and walk the halls of Asgard’s palace on his own free will, does he see his father. 

Loki was just passing by, visiting his mother’s gardens when he comes up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

It jostles him from his thoughts, and he flinches, but relaxes when he turns around and it’s his father.

“Father,” he says. 

“Loki,” his father nods at him. “It is good to see you about.”

Loki takes in a sharp breath. “Yes, it feels good.”

Odin doesn’t take his hand off of Loki’s shoulder, but squeezes it with a sense of comfort. Out in public, there is a difference in his father’s comfort and expression. Back in the healing chambers, there was something harrowing there. Out here, it’s a steely expression, but he can feel in Odin’s comforting hand on his shoulder that he wants to be there for him. 

“I can not stay for long,” Odin says, looking down at some flowers. Loki thought perhaps he was avoiding his gaze. “But I wanted to speak with you for a moment.”

Loki didn’t like the sound of that. 

_ They don’t love you, Loki... _

“What about?”

Loki tries for a casual tone, but it sounds more nervous than he would like.

Odin squeezes again. “I wanted to clear something for you, my boy.”

Loki frowns. “Father?”

His father stills, the calloused hand’s presence heavy upon him. “There is something I believe you have been passive about.”

Loki wants to squirm, but he doesn’t. “I don’t understand.”

“I know what he wanted, Loki.”

His breath hitches in his chest, and his heart drops down to his boots. He does squirm a little that time.

Odin continues, and Loki stays silent while he speaks. “Eirik was his name,” he starts, and Loki can’t suppress the flinch. “I remember him. After the Dark Elves’ attack on the public, he came to me, demanding an explanation. I didn’t have one, and it angered him. He claimed I was to be held responsible for the death of his loved ones. His wife and daughter.”

Loki examines him, and thinks he senses an aura of guilt around the man. Still, he doesn’t speak.

“He told me that I would rue the day I caused his and hundreds of others’ losses. He promised me I would regret it,” he pauses, a frown between his brows meeting. “I did not believe him. I was aware he was forming a group against me, and against the throne of Asgard. But I never dreamed, after almost two centuries, that it would become a problem. I stood idly by and allowed him and his hatred to grow and spread, and all of it, my failure, ultimately led to your suffering.”

He opens his mouth to speak, to deny that, it wasn’t his fault. But he can’t. There is something lodged in his throat, and his heart feels like it’s stuttering in his chest.

_ They don’t love you, Loki... _

“I know,” his father begins again. “That I will carry that and your hurts for the rest of my life.”

“Father-“

“Necromancy,” he interrupts. “Am I correct in assuming that was his purpose for your capture?”

Loki swallows and it suddenly feels like Eirik is hovering over his shoulder. “Yes,” he chokes. “He wanted my magic to bring them back.”

Odin nods, but then a small smile applies itself on his features. “I had no idea you had dabbled in it.”

He blanches. “I was never-“

“I know,” his father squeezes again, and finally looks away from the flowers and locks his one eye on Loki’s. “I know you would not. And I know why you would not.” Loki’s frown deepens. He bites his tongue to keep from speaking. “Loki, to perform a spell of necromancy does not only bring back a specific individual and/or persons, but it opens the gateway to the spirits completely. The spirits who have neither entered Hel nor Valhalla. The ones who were left behind in their wake, who have... what is the Midgardian phrase, ‘a score to settle.’” 

Oh, he thinks...  _ oh... _

“It would cause chaos across Asgard, and possibly, if done prematurely enough, across the entire Nine Realms. It has not been overly documented in textbooks or scrolls, but it has been warned of.” His eye bore into Loki’s. “But you already knew this. You already knew that risk.”

Loki wants to feel pride, but he can’t.

“Loki,” his father says, and it’s quiet and hushed. When he speaks, he speaks slowly. As if trying to convey an important point. “You did not fight that man solely for your own beliefs or for your life. You fought him because you knew it could have been a danger to Asgard and all of the Nine Realms.” Odin looks away again, and Loki looks at him, incredulous. 

Yes. Yes, he knew everything that Odin was telling him. He knew the dangers of the spell, not only to himself, but to everyone. To all of Asgard and all of the Nine. 

He supposed Odin was right. He had tried to make that point passive. He did not really want the praise for it. It did not matter, at the time. He only wanted it to  _ stop. _

Odin looks up at him again. “Eirik may have broken your body. But he did not break your will. You fought for Asgard, and every other realm out there that could have been in danger should you perform the spell. And I am proud of you.”

That, Loki thinks, should be enough for him to topple over and faint. 

Odin did not announce praise often, much less tell Loki he was proud of him. He did not even do such a thing with Thor.

“Father,” he whispers, and it trembles past his lips. “Father...”

“I am so proud of you, Loki. For you to speak dishonorably about yourself... for you to say you should have been stronger on the premises of you being a Son of Odin, or a Prince of Asgard. It is not right. Because you are much more than that. And if I have not done a good job of relaying this to you in the past, then please forgive me. Let me do it now. You are more than any of that.”

Loki doesn’t know what to say, but he does feel a tear slip past his lashes. He looks down, unable to keep his gaze on his father. 

But Odin reaches a gentle finger under his chin and lifts it high. Lifts it high like a Prince, and then Odin uses the same finger to wipe his single tear away. And then Odin smiles the most genuine smile he ever has at Loki. 

His father does not speak another word, but squeezes one more time on his shoulder before walking away with a swipe of cape, and he stares after him. He can not move. 

_ They don’t love you, Loki... _

And this time, Loki thinks he knows who is telling the truth.

He smiles.

It will be okay.

He will be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter two will be coming soon.


End file.
